ᴀɴɢᴜɪsʜ » ᴅᴀʀʏʟ ᴅɪxᴏɴ

{13} Greene

Two months earlier.

"Francis. Francis, listen to me, you can't just leave!"

My best friend since college storms out of his 2 bedroom home with two duffel bags in hand. I follow behind him shortly after. He can't leave. He can't leave me. Not now. Not like this.

What is wrong with me?

"I have to, Will. This is my life. This is my husband's life!" Francis drops his bags next to his minivan, glaring down at me. He points a shaky hand at his husband, Greg Lopez, who stood by the entrance of their home. "This thing is real!"

Standing before him, I stare at him with disbelief. My heart aches. If he were to leave, he'd be leaving with a part of me. And if this pandemic is real, he'd be leaving Jodie and me alone. We can barely take care of ourselves. I can't bear it.

But what of his own safety? What if this will be my last time seeing Francis and Greg ever again? The world could be ending and they are putting their lives in danger. Atlanta doesn't make much sense. In history, the public was always warned to stay far away from other humans. For the fear that the sickness of that time could spread. This is just the same. Why would we put more humans in one place?

"Atlanta is crowded as it is. Do you think you'll be safe in a city filled with people? If what you claim is true, you will die. Both of you will die!" I shouted, closing the driver's side door as he attempts to open it. Francis slams the palm of his hand against the roof of his van, aggravated.

"Dammit, Will. Either get in the car or don't! This isn't about you! It isn't always about you!"

Greg hurries over, squeezing in between us.

"Yelling won't help anyone," spoke the tall slender black man. One hand on Francis' chest, the other on my shoulder.

My hands shake beside me as my bottom lip quiver. "I know it isn't about me, but I can't - you're my family. Please. I don't feel good about Atlanta."

Francis shook his head, picking up his belongings from the ground. His expression clear as day, Francis made his decision and there is nothing I can say or do to change his mind. This is what he wants to do. Greg isn't going to argue because, in the back of his mind, he agrees.

Earlier, Francis told me he and Greg were leaving, but I didn't think he would actually leave.

"Greg...please," I turn my attention onto Greg, holding onto his lengthy arm as Francis threw the bags into his car. "You can't, this isn't going to end well if this is real. You can't."

Tears fall down my cheeks as Greg looks down at me with pity. Francis opens the driver side door with anger, pausing for only a moment to shout;

"Greg, get in the car."

Greg hesitates for a second but in the end, hurries to the passenger side.

"Find us when you're done. See you soon," Francis says to me for the last time. The two slip into their van and I watch in sadness as the minivan backs up out of the driveway and drives away without looking back.

Present.

I warned them both. Atlanta made my stomach turn. The idea of it made my head spin. Jodie was the one who pushed the idea to head to Atlanta when the time was right. Shit went down quickly in our city and we ran. I had hoped my gut feeling was wrong. Anthony, Francis, and Greg would be there waiting for us. I put my hopes on my sleeves and gave it a shot, only for it shows that I was right.

So many questions pound my brain; Did they make it? How far did they drive before being cut off if they didn't? Did they see Anthony and his family? Did they all burn into ashes during the explosions?